


Glory for Kul Tiras

by Littlepwny (CasaDoom)



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, Warcraft III, World of Warcraft
Genre: Adventure & Romance, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 19:41:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7235923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CasaDoom/pseuds/Littlepwny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Circumstances lead to Jaina being forced to form an alliance with her greatest enemy—the former Lord Captain of Kul Tiras and her brother's murderer—in order to reclaim the Kingdom that is hers by right. The story begins a few days before the Scourge attack. [Jaina Proudmoore/Human OMC]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I've made some slight modifications to the timeline in order to make Jaina slightly younger during the Third War. This is done by having the Third War start in year 17 instead of 20 with Wrath of the Lich King happening in year 23 instead of 27 with Jaina born at the arrival of orcs in Azeroth in year 0. Mostly for flavour, I have used King's Calendar dates (+592 years) with month names from Dragon Age. I will use D&D terminology for weapons and a few spells.
> 
> Since I know that many of you enjoy the Horde, I want to make it clear from the start that they will not be the focus of the story.
> 
> I hope that you all enjoy the premise behind the story and that my writing style is not too hard to follow. Any kind of feedback/suggestions is appreciated.

_15 Haring 616, King's Calendar_

Lady Jaina Proudmoore stood in front of the harbour waiting anxiously for the arrival of the tirassian delegation. A formation of seven military vessels appeared in their distance, their dark green sails dominating the horizon.

From her side, Colonel Lorena growled angrily. Lorena had become a traitor in the eyes of her father and nine brothers when she had chosen to side with Jaina instead of Grand Admiral Daelin Proudmoore. Although it saddened her in many ways, Jaina could not blame that her adjutant had grown a deep hatred for Kul Tiras and, more specifically, the man that was the personification of the systematic hatred that was cultivated between Theramore and Kul Tiras.

The hatred in Lorena's eyes was mirrored throughout the crowd that had gathered, all of them with similar tragic stories.

None of which was more tragic that Jaina's story. At the age of five, she had lost her childhood hero, her beloved brother, to the orcs. The only lovers she had taken in her life - though it sickened her to even think of Kael'thas with that term - had become the most reviled men to their people. The event that had truly left her broken was being forced to side against her father, one of the greatest heroes in the Alliance, after he was consumed by his hatred for the Horde. Now, her brother and his family had been brutally murdered by his most trusted lieutenant, the Lord Captain of Kul Tiras.

She shook her head, trying to push the useless but painful memories aside. Jaina looked towards the crowed, they were getting more and more restless as a small rowing boat approached the harbour. Lorena had suggested to ban the public from gathering under the fear that one of them would do what everyone was thinking, shoot the damn dastard. Jaina had considered it but it would not have been right and, after all, her people had proven that hatred never consumed them when they forgave the orcs for their part in the Second War.

Dressed in the navy blue uniform of the Lordamere navy, Catherine Rogers stepped off the boat. Under her coat, she wore the black sash of the Order of Neptulon - an exclusive chivalric order for naval officers of the Alliance of Lordaeron. The requirements for joining the Order were so impossibly high that only six people had managed to join it without dying: Daelin Proudmoore, Tandred Proudmoore, Catherine Rogers, Halford Wyrmbane, Admiral Zelanis Seastar—the Admiral of Quel'Thalas. _And that dastard,_ Jaina added as Rogers roughly grabbed a man and forced him off the boat.

Jaina narrowed her icy blue eyes on Lord Captain Daeldric von Selaniir, the man that murdered her brother, her best friend, and their beautiful daughter. Yet somehow, even though he was chained and dressed in rugged clothes, this vile man had the nerve to walk down the pier with a wide grin that was at the edge of bursting into laughter.

Captain Rogers nodded curtly. “Lady Proudmoore,” she said, “I'd like to extend the Lord Admiral's apologies for being unable to attend the New Year's celebration.”

It was an obvious lie. Jaina's uncle had not come to Theramore because he did not wish to be seen with the “traitors”. Alverold Proudmoore may have been quite willing to join the Alliance with her help and very understanding of her plight but it did not take a genius to know that Kul Tiras would always see Theramore as a mere colony that was rightfully theirs.

Jaina smiled. “Captain Ro—”

“Lady Captain,” Daeldric corrected in his calm, husky voice. “Treason is a quality that is encouraged and rewarded these days.”

The crowd shifted uncomfortably at Daeldric's rude interruption. Lorena took a step forward and punched the prisoner with her plated gauntlet. “Be silent, cur.”

Daeldric did not even flinch. His nose started bleeding.

In one swift, practised motion, Catherine Rogers drew her pistol and aimed it at Lorena. “And you stay in line, whitewasher.”

The degrading term played on the fact that Theramore both switched the green tirassian uniforms for white ones and, according to Kul Tiras, whitewashed the crimes of the Horde.

Lorena opened her mouth but Jaina interrupted her. “I'd like to apologise for Colonel Lorena's zeal in delivering justice.”

Lorena walked away from the prisoner.

As Daeldric had stated, the leviathan-shaped brooch of the office of the Lord Captain was pinned on Rogers' embroidered navy blue coat. Normally, the Lord Captain's and the Lord Admiral's uniform had a shoulder cape integrated on the left shoulder with their insignia. This was not the case for Rogers.

“Lady Captain Rogers,” Jaina continued, her smile restored again to her face. “I trust that your duties will allow you to celebrate the New Year with us.”

Rogers hesitated. Then, she said: “Only if the dangers plaguing Tel Abim are solved swiftly.”

Tel Abim was a large island one-day off the coast of Kalimdor that her father had conquered from the trolls before his invasion in Kalimdor. Although in a quite remote location from Kul Tiras, Tandred had used it as a naval base to increase his influence in the South Seas. The island was extremely popular for their bananas and chocolate. The proximity of Tel Abim to Theramore concerned Jaina greatly.

“Allow me to provide you with assistance; my people know the region very well.”

Rogers shook her head. “My fleet is more than capable of handling the issue. I could, however, use your assistance in treating my wounded soldiers after our return,” she said.

“Of course,” Jaina replied.

“Now,” Rogers continued. “Let's get down to business.” She drew a sealed parchment.

Jaina took the parchment and broke the seal.

 

_My beloved niece,_

_I hope that our people were pleased to hear that they are now free to travel or, should they want, return to Kul Tiras. Although your brother's death pained me greatly, it truly brought a smile to my face when Kul Tiras officiated its position in the Alliance. I am afraid that I will have to decline your invitation for the New Year's celebration due to trouble brewing in the prison of Tol Barad._

_Now, onto the subject of the traitor, I'd like to apologise for springing this onto you at such an early notice but you will need to hold him under close guard until the day of his execution. After your insistence, I sent Daeldric to be questioned by Stormwind about his relationship with the Defias Brotherhood but the fools tortured him. The Admiralty and the Senate were outraged that a foreigner was torturing one of our own and, to make things worse, Edwin VanCleef was the one to inform them of exactly what was being done to Daeldric in the Stockades. I also cannot keep him in Kul Tiras, Daeldric has far too many influential allies with whom he can freely conspire should I keep him under house arrest. I need you to keep him away from Kul Tiras._

_I look forward to seeing you during the celebration of Hordefall in four weeks. King Varian and the rest of the Alliance will be attending._

W _ith love,_

_Alverold Proudmoore - Lord Admiral of Kul Tiras_

 

Jaina's eyes widened in both surprise and anger as she read the humiliating letter. _How dare he?_

There were three veiled insults on the letter. Alverold had used the word 'our' to describe the citizens of Theramore in order to remind her that Theramore was a rebellious colony rather than an independent city state. The second insult was the invitation to Hordefall, the anniversary of the end of the Second War, which included the burning of orc dolls during the festivities. The most humiliating aspect would be the traditional greeting. Like in Stormwind's Remembrance Day, the traditional greeting used was “Remember well”. For those loyal to Kul Tiras, the appropriate response was “Kul Tiras never forgets”.

As far as she was concerned, the letter might as well have said: “Kul Tiras will never forget what you did, orc lover.”

Because he knew that attending such an event would unnerve her, Alverold had made it clear that the entirety of the Alliance would be attending. Refusing to attend after using significant political capital to bring Kul Tiras back to the Alliance was not an option.

Jaina met Rogers' gaze without flinching. _Let the coward have this small victory._ “Tell my uncle that we will gladly attend Hordefall,” she said.

Daeldric's body stiffened in shock. For a mere heartbeat, Jaina was certain that she saw a hint of solicitude on his face.

“Daeldric may stay here,” Jaina said.

Rogers' handed to Lorena the keys to Daeldric's shackles. “A pleasure, Lady Proudmoore,” she said with a curt bow and started walking away.

“Catherine?” Daeldric asked. “Do you remember our bet?”

“Which one? The one that Theramore would fall within seven years after Daelin's death?”

Jaina winced.

Daeldric grinned. “Well... if I am not alive by then and Theramore has fallen in two years and fifty-seven days, do buy my boys a couple of drinks.”

Jaina tried to hide her annoyance and smiled coolly. “I'm afraid you will be very disappointed, Daeldric von Selaniir.”

Daeldric's grin widened. “Most likely, yes.”

“Two Admirals have died under your watch after all.”

The crowd chuckled at her rebuke. Daeldric himself tossed his head back and laughed.

Rogers glared at him. “This is hardly a laughing matter,” she said.

“Certainly not,” he replied. “Thought you must appreciate the irony of having those words coming from her while a populace of deserters is glaring at me.”

That comment had well exceeded the limits of the crowd. They started shouting vulgarities towards the prisoner. Some fools even tried to circumvent the guards in order to physically attack the grinning man.

Swiftly, Jaina ordered Lorena and her men to grab Daeldric and drag him to the Foothold Citadel. She would have to deal with his insolence later.


	2. Under House Arrest

_16 Haring 616_

"Can you just shut up already?" Daeldric snapped, rapidly losing his patience with the insults his captor was hurling at him.

The young guard had a small frame that was more suitable for a powder monkey than a guard.

 _Perhaps I am being unfair_ , he thought. Even though it was a simple task, ferrying gunpowder from the powder magazines in the hold to the artillery pieces on the gun decks in the middle of a chaotic battle could be quite a daunting task.

Standing guard with a flask of grog and writing tools at hand seemed like a joke in comparison. And he was failing miserably at it.

The guard walked right in front of the cell door. "Or what, Kingslayer?"

Had it not been for the chain on his foot keeping him away from the cell door, Daeldric would have yanked the drunkard to the steel bars. Then, the boy's soprano voice reminded him that he was just a young fool. "Just go and play with your toys. Do not insult his Grace."

Laughter. "Or what?"

The Lord Captain took a deep breath. "Or I will silence you—permanently."

The guard tightened his grip on his longsword.

Daeldric lied down on his bed again. "Here is a tip for you, boy," he said. "If you plan to fight me in close quarters, use your dagger instead."

"Shut up!"

"Or what? You are going to kill me?" Daeldric laughed. "It honestly amazes me that so few of you understand how the world works," the guard was at the edge of snapping but Daeldric continued, "though it is understandable why Proudmoore has set the bar so low."

"Shut your mouth!" the guard rasped. "It was that idiot of a father of hers that ruined everything. We had an agreement with the orcs and the bastard ruined it!"

Daeldric smiled to hide both his anger and amusement at the boy's words. "Have you heard about Arthas Menethil and Lady Proudmoore?"

"They were betrothed."

"That's not the story I know," Daeldric chuckled. "They weren't even betrothed when they... you know."

The guard gasped, his surprise that his "heroine" had been deflowered before her wedding showing. "They were in love!"

From all the arguments he could find, this was most certainly the weakest one. "I remember the day after they broke up, Arthas was at the Lusting Wench hurling insults towards his beloved." Daeldric paused, his nostrils flaring with anger as he remembered the lieutenant that had been cut down by Falric and Marwyn for attempting to defend Proudmoore's honour. "Want to know the best part?"

The guard stared at him, idly.

"Arthas said the wench wasn't even her first."

The guard flew into a fit of rage and grabbed the chains from his belt.

Alarmed, Daeldric jumped to his feet. "Don't do this mate! It was just a joke," he pleaded. "Guards!"

When the door was unlocked, the guard lunged forward with his longsword.

Daeldric sidestepped the blow and punched the boy in the face before pushing him to the wall.

_Where the fuck are the guards?_

The boy whirled his longsword in a wide sweep. Daeldric jumped backwards to avoid the blow but the chain that kept him close to his bed reached its maximum length and almost tripped him. He gasped in pain as the blade grazed him across the chest.

 _Fuck it_ , Daeldric thought. He rushed to the boy before he could ready his weapon again and slammed him to the wall. Immediately, he drew the rondel dagger from the guard's belt and pierced the chainmail of his half-plate armour below his cuirass. Daeldric threw him to the ground and started punching the screaming man. When the flailing had stopped, he stood up, unchained his foot and grabbed the flask of grog from the table.

"Idiot," he muttered as he chugged down the disgusting drink.

For a moment, he considered to try to escape from the prison but he dismissed the foolish idea. Even if he somehow managed to escape from the Foothold Citadel (which seemed quite likely given that the guards seemed absolutely useless), escaping from the actual island without external assistance would be an impossible feat. The drawing on the table caught Daeldric's attention. He chuckled as he recognised the naked beauty painted on the parchment. Daeldric wanted to teach the poor, lovestruck idiot a lesson and not kill him while he supposedly protected Lady Proudmoore's non-existent honour. He took another look at Jaina's tall, lithe frame before saving the boy the post-mortem embarrassment by shredding the paper.

"Lord Captain," a man whispered in a surprisingly hoarse voice.

Daeldric stood up and walked towards the source of the voice. Despite his soldier's familiarity with scars and wounds, he had to suppress an impulse to recoil or look away from the hideous man. The lanky prisoner was missing an eye, his ear was torn, and half his hair had been practically torn off his scalp. He was missing his left hand and part of his forearm. Judging by the slashing wound across his throat, the man was lucky enough to be able to speak or even be alive.

"And who would you be, kind sir?" Daeldric asked.

The stranger saluted. "Gavis Greyshield, Sire."

 _Ah._ This was the commander of the Theramore dissenters, a small cadre of marines that—after laying down their arms at their Lady's behest during the battle for Theramore— had decided that they wished to serve Kul Tiras again. It had been Tandred's kindness that had led Daeldric to scribble a letter instructing them to return to Kul Tiras but they had no obeyed for some reason. "When I give an order," he said. "I expect it to be followed."

"They were too powerful—"

"Which is why I ordered you to return to Kul Tiras."

Gavis blinked. "My Lord?" he muttered. "Your letter ordered us to keep fighting."

Forgery then. _Why would Proudmoore have one of her people mislead the dissenters?_ Daeldric took a swig from the flask, trying to mask his bafflement. After careful contemplation, an idea came to his mind. "The person responsible for dealing with you, what was her name?"

"Calia Hastings."

"Did she do this to you?"

"No, my Lord, some mercenaries she hired for the job."

Daeldric nodded. "The woman, Calia Hastings, was she was from Stormwind?"

The man gulped. "Yes, my Lord."

He passed the flask to the suffering man and walked back to his cell. "I suspected as much."

* * *

Jaina Proudmoore moaned in displeasure as the first light of the morrow touched her fair face. As the ruler of Theramore, she could not afford to comply with the requests of her exhausted body. She stood up, threw on her violet robe, and walked towards the window of her quarters.

Her heart sprung with delight when she saw large snowflakes falling from the heavens. Even though the snow had not completely settled, young children were already playing, at the square in front of her tower, with the little snow they could get on their hands.

The rough knock on the door took her away from the happy image. She walked to her dressing table and started brushing her tousled hair. "Come in," she said.

Without saying a word, Lorena walked next to her.

"Lorena, is something wrong?"

"There was an incident in the prison," Lorena replied.

Jaina looked towards her friend in alarm. "Did something happen to Daeldric?"

Lorena shook her head. "No. I am not sure why or how it happened but we found the man guarding him beaten to death inside Daeldric's cell," she explained. "The prisoner was slashed across the chest but he is well."

Jaina breathed a sigh of relief. It was tragic that a man had died but Daeldric's death would have created a significant amount of problems. "I thought you said that you had your most trustworthy soldiers guarding him."

"Thomas was still in training but he was loyal."

"What do we do now?"

"Honestly? Other than sending him to Kul Tiras, I do not know," Lorena admitted. "I will discipline my men but once they hear what happened..."

Sending him to Kul Tiras would have solved their problem but, as her uncle had correctly assessed, would have created much greater issues for Kul Tiras and the Alliance. Still, she needed for him to be safe until she could make the correct decision.

"Bring Daeldric here," Jaina said and inwardly shuddered at the thought. "I wish to speak to him."

* * *

Jaina smiled when the tall, muscular man entered her study, she motioned for him to sit next to her.

Daeldric von Selaniir eyed her with caution, not comprehending why she would be inviting him to share breakfast with her.

"Please join me, my Lord," she said.

The usage of the honorific also surprised him. Eventually, he sat opposite to her. "What game are you playing now?"

Jaina smiled. "I am merely trying to be polite, I trust that you will do the same."

He nodded.

"My officer informed me that she can no longer guarantee your safety in the Foothold Citadel," she took a sip from her glass of milk. "You will be safer in one of the guest chambers in my tower."

Daeldric cocked an eyebrow. "Normally, you just throw your prisoner in a different dungeon. You don't offer him bed and breakfast."

"The breakfast is my apology for what happened."

The man run his hand through his unkempt black hair. "Had I known he would draw his blade, I would have kept my mouth shut." He placed three slices of bacon and a fried egg on his plate. As he was spreading butter on his croissant, he muttered something.

"What happened?"

"He kept insulting Admiral Proudmoore for hours," he garbled, his mouth full of croissant. "So when he called his Grace an idiot, I told him a story about the Lady of Theramore and her Prince."

It was almost amusing that Daeldric still worshipped her father when he had butchered the Admiral's remaining family. As for the story, she assumed it was the one that had nearly led to a war between Kul Tiras and Lordaeron. "You had to defend yourself."

They ate their food in awkward silence for quite a few minutes, both of them knowing too well that there was little point in addressing the elephant in the room. At some point, Daeldric spoke. "I'm sorry by the way."

She raised her hand politely. "You had no choice but to defend yourself."

"No, not that," he replied. "For finally realising the kind of man Alverold is."

Lightly, Jaina tucked a loose strand of her blond hair behind her ear. "It did not please me b-but my uncle needs to do what he must to keep your supporters in check."

"I was always told that you are a kind and just woman with wisdom beyond your years," Daeldric said. "All I see is a young woman throwing the tantrums of a little girl while allowing herself to be used by a man that should be, by all account, reviled by his family."

Jaina placed her cutlery down and stood up. "Perhaps it is my calm and kind personality that has given you the impression that you can insult me in my own home and get away with it." She walked next to Daeldric and placed one knee on his chair, between his legs. Although he was already looking at her, she touched him from the chin and forced him to maintain his gaze. The long, sidelong cut that marred his visage—a gift from Cairne Bloodhoof during the battle for Theramore—and had by miracle not cost him his eye was quite distracting. If anyone entered the room at that moment, they would have mistaken the compromising position with something completely different.

Daeldric shivered a little.

"You murdered my brother;" she begun, her voice was pure ice, "you murdered my best friend; you murdered a little girl that I never met but loved more than anything in this wretched world; you conspired with Greyshield to have me overthrown; and all but declared war to the Alliance." She paused and took a deep breath, calming herself and restoring an honest smile on her face. "I can be gentle but press me too hard and I will snap."

Slowly, Jaina slid off the disgraced Lord Captain and walked back to her seat. "You said that Alverold is using me," she said as she finished her milk. "Explain."

Daeldric took a deep breath. "My supporters have always served your family. Alverold's supporters are the ones that tried to overthrow Tandred when I and Catherine brought news of the defeat from Theramore."

"Why would they—"

"Because they know who I am", he said, "and unlike spoiled noble children; an orphan, peasant boy from Lordaeron that was literally picked from the trash by the greatest man in Azeroth does not betray his family."

Daeldric was supposedly the brother of one of the many heroes that perished during the Second War. During a military parade in Lordaeron, two years after the end of the Second War, her father had recognised the orphans among the crowd, struggling to look at the soldiers. Admiral Proudmoore had literally broken from the formation, took the confused boy by the hand and had him sit next to Jaina and the other noble children; an act that had soared his popularity among commoners and was seen by nobles as a ingenious publicity stunt. After the parade, Arthas told her that the Admiral all but drew his blade on King Terenas over the latter's inability to fulfil their promise to the war hero—take care of Daeldric and, eventually, ordain him into the Knights of the Silver Hand.

If Varian had not shown her the damning letters, Jaina would have almost believed Daeldric's words. "If that is the case," she replied, "you would have provided yourself with a credible defense during your trial."

A crooked grin formed on his scared lips. "Or perhaps the big reveal will happen moments before my execution," he drawled. "Or maybe I am just trying to turn you against your _loving_ uncle."

Daeldric's cryptic manner irked her greatly. "Just speak clearly!" she snapped. "Did you or did you not kill them?"

He stood up and opened the door. "We are done here," he told the guards.

Jaina nodded her consent. "Take him to his quarters."

Although she had her doubts about the validity of his words, Jaina could not afford to risk leaving her brother's murder unpunished in the case that Daeldric was truthful but too proud to ask for her help. She rushed to her study and started scribing a letter to one of the few men she could trust.

 


	3. Assault on Theramore Isle

_25 Haring 616_

When Jaina Proudmoore had written a letter to Halford Wyrmbane—the Commander of the 7th Legion and the Supreme Commander of her forces during the Third War—asking for his help, the last thing she expected was to receive a whole tome on the political situation in Kul Tiras following the months after Tandred's death.

Daeldric had been truthful about the identity of his supporters. The old guard of Kul Tiras, her father's closest supporters and friends, and the majority of the military had indeed refused to support Alverold's candidacy for the position of the Lord Admiral. One of them, Captain-General Alexander Farnham, had even nominated Jaina as a candidate for the position of the Lord Admiral. Duke Reginald Goodwin had questioned the aging general's honour for trying to hand the throne to a kinslayer. In the duel to the first blood that followed, the Duke murdered the aging general of the army of Kul Tiras.

Alverold had tried to stop the duel but he had not outright denied his closest supporters words. Instead, he had argued that Jaina was far too removed from tirassian politics and was clearly not willing to return to Kul Tiras.

The most interesting part of the manuscript was Daeldric von Selaniir's trial. There were three items that directly connected him to the murder of the ruling family. The first was his written order to relieve the admiralsguard during the day of the attack. The second item was his back and forth letter exchange with the leader of the Defias Brotherhood on the merits of assassinating Tandred Proudmoore. Further to their conversation, every single one of the assassins had the cog tattoo of the brotherhood on their hand. Beyond that, half the nobility had used the trial to air their grievances and frustration towards their Lord Captain.

For his part, Daeldric's "defence" consisted of little more than jests and barbs. The only actual argument to defend himself was that, if he had indeed planned the execution, he would not have incriminated himself to such an extent. After he had been charged for treason, Daeldric gave them a cryptic warning about talking during his execution. Some of the nobles had laughed at the statement but the fact that his execution was delayed indefinitely implied that they feared something.

Jaina did, however, notice something truly odd. The letters lacked an element that made their content, at the very least, questionable. Calia Menethil and Emma, her daughter, were not mentioned a single time. Perhaps it had been the tears and her depression that had made her miss this oddity when Varian initially showed her the letters.

She rubbed her eyes and took a sip from her cold glass of distilled felweed, a highly addictive demonic substance that took away the exhaustion.

Jaina jumped to her feet when the window slammed open by a strong gale. The biting cold licked at her face and crept under the folds of her furred ensemble. She cast a simple warming spell but, after a momentary sigh of relief, the cold settled again. It took an extraneous effort to close the window shut and seal it with one of her spells.

_How could the crisp, playful weather turn into this unnatural bitter cold?_

The answer to her question came in the form of a dark, sinister presence in the distance that made her skin crawl. She gulped and peered through the window. A dark, frozen cloud was visible in the distance.

_Oh, by the Light!_

A dragon roared from within the cloud, the crackling sound making it clear beyond doubt that this was a wyrm of frost.

Jaina rushed for her staff but dropped to the ground in pain. She looked at her bloodied right hand, the skin on the palm that touched the metal of the frozen window had been ripped off by her sudden movement. She slammed her fist on the ground and stood up.

Ignoring the pain, Jaina put on her gloves and grabbed her staff. Using a powerful transmutation spell, she replaced her furred robes with something far more suitable for combat and rushed down the stairs.

Ysuria—her chancellor and closest confidante—was at the bottom of the tower, magically sending missives to their allies. "Jaina!" she exclaimed. "We are being attacked by-"

"Is Thrall coming to help?"

The petite high elf shook her head. "Every major Alliance and Horde city is being attacked. Northwatch Hold too. We are on our own."

"Lady Proudmore," Jaina turned towards Daeldric, he was standing on one of the wooden passageways on the upper floors. "Allow me to be of assistance."

"But-"

"I will not stand idle while humans—any humans—are being murdered by monsters," he said. "I am the best fighter on this damn island, use me."

She had her doubts about the latter statement given his reputation for leading from the distance but he had a point. Jaina turned towards Ysuria. "Take him to the armoury and ensure that the civilians are safe in the citadel."

Ysuria frowned. "Very well."

Jaina felt a bit guilty for her decision but she could not afford to lose her friend over hurt feelings. Ysuria was a good sorceress and an even better friend but she was not a capable combatant.

Colonel Lorena and her men were setting barricades across the harbour in order to stop any potential ground forces. When she noticed Jaina, she run towards her. "I hope you have a way of dealing with the frost wyrm," she said.

Now that the Scourge was closer, the only thing Jaina could see in the sky was a frost wyrm and its death knight handler on a reanimated griffon. The death knight motioned south, towards the bay of Dustwallow Marsh. The wyrm broke away and headed for the anchored fleet while the death knight headed straight for Theramore.

"Tervosh and I can deprive it of its ability to fly," Jaina replied, "but not from this distance."

The Lady of Theramore walked to one side of the harbour—where the wall ended—and placed the butt of her staff on the ground. Then, she dragged her staff to the other side of the harbour. Jaina walked behind the barricade Lorena had set up, dropped on one knee, opened her spellbook, and started chanting a rather complex spell.

When she heard the sound of a griffon swooping low and landing, Jaina open her eyes and smiled wickedly at the guest. Her smile was cut short when she noticed that the death knight was wearing a field marshal's battlegear rather than saronite armour.

"Hear me, naive children of the alliance!" the death knight growled and gazed at each and every one of the gathered soldiers. One of the soldiers fell down and puked. When his gaze met Jaina's, she felt a twist in her stomach as visions of death and destruction filled her mind.

 _It's just a trick Jaina,_ she reminded to herself as she pushed the malevolent presence out of her mind.

"This is no trick, whore of the Lich King," he laughed and walked forward, right before the line she traced with her staff. "Tremble and know your doom, for the Lich King's gaze is fixed upon you!"

A shiver run through Jaina's spine when hundreds of ghouls stepped out of the ocean and formed behind the Lich King. The screeches of the frost wyrm could be heard from the distance as it teared through the abandoned ships.

"Come and face me coward," Jaina snapped and jumped in front of the barricade.

The death knight drew his runic greatsword.

"In his defence," Daeldric said, grinning, "our friend is a mindless slave."

The Sorceress frowned at the interruption. Then, she narrowed her eyes on him when she noticed what he was wearing. She had expected to see plate armour on him but, instead, the fool had somehow found a tirassian uniform in the armoury.

Subtly, she shook her head. _Let me handle this,_ her blue eyes said.

The death knight's eyes brightened. "Daeldric…" the voice was different; low and otherworldly.

_Arthas?_

"Good, good," he said, his voice normal again, "someone I wanted to kill personally."

Daeldric jumped down the barrier. "Luc Valonforth?"

The death knight charged with a roar. "Don't call me that!"

Jaina shouted a single word of command, the enchantment on the ground manifesting as a wall of fire.

Taken by surprise, the undead man stopped his charge and thrust his greatsword in the ground, a violent burst of frost exploded from his blade. The wall dissipated for a moment but was reignited a moment later, setting ablaze the few ghouls that tried to cross.

Jaina raised her hand and formed a protective shield. The wave of frost was completely blocked but the force of the blow staggered her. Someone screamed from behind. Behind her, the entire barricade had been covered a thick layer of ice but it had adequately protected the soldiers that had ducked. Then, she turned towards Daeldric's position and saw nothing.

"Over here," someone cooed in her ear.

All things considered, Jaina chuckled. "Did you really just hide behind me?"

The characteristic crashing sound of walls falling followed by the ferocious roar of a dragon was heard from the other side of the walled city; below her, the earth trembled. The western wall was completely destroyed and a dozen soldiers had been turned into frozen statues. A large number of ghouls started pouring through the breach.

The dragon was flying over the western wall when Tervosh's voice echoed throughout the island. The creature screeched and heaved when the Archmage's fireblast struck the creature's left flank. Somehow, the creature managed to maintain its flight and fly away.

"Proudmoore!" Daeldric shouted.

Jaina turned towards the Lord Captain.

Daeldric was standing on a patch of desecrated ground, skeletal hands trying to grasp him from below while he fought the death knight. "Have your men eliminate the ghouls! Assist me with Valonforth."

Although it annoyed her, his plan rung true. "Do as he says," Jaina snapped to Lorena and her men. "I will handle the Death Knight."

The death knight swung his sword in wide arc, sending a wave of frozen knifes towards his assailant. Daeldric jumped to the ground to avoid them. With his assailant interrupted, he turned towards the ghouls stuck behind the fire. "Inside!"

The ghouls responded instantly to their master's call and rushed through the fires. They howled in pain as the fire caught them ablaze but, mindless as they were, completely ignored it and kept charging.

Daeldric jumped in front of Jaina and swung his falchion—a two-handed scimitar with a wide blade curved towards the tip that made it ideal for chopping—at the creatures that tried to attack Jaina.

Then, he charged the death knight but was too slow to stop him from blowing his horn. A strong wind extinguished the flames from the Lich King's minions.

Jaina responded with another spell of her own. She slammed her staff to the ground and the ghouls toppled backwards through the fire. Daeldric and the death knight were also struck by the spell but, advanced fighters as they were, the non-lethal spell did not affect them beyond a mere stumble.

The sorceress chanted words of power and thrust her staff forward, a straight beam of pure arcane energies manifested from her staff and struck the death knight.

The death knight tried to rush at her but Daeldric blocked his path. Although the golden helmet hid his face, the death knight's dilemma was evident. Charge towards Jaina and risk dying to Daeldric's blade or ignore the beam and try to murder Daeldric before the beam burns both flesh and steel.

Daeldric did not leave him a choice. "Sir Luc Valonforth, Field Marshal of Lordaeron and knight of the Silver Hand."

The death knight charged at him. "Don't call me that!" he screamed in both pain and frustration.

"Twice decorated for his service during the Second War and for slaying Orgrim Doomhammer in Hammerfall."

"Shut up!" the undead lunged but his blade struck the air.

Daeldric knew that the death knight would be dying any moment now and simply started moving around the target; far enough to easily avoid the runic sword but close enough to charge in case the death knight tried to cast a spell or attack Jaina.

"Sacrificed himself during the expedition at Northrend to give the world a fighting chance."

"And you failed us all!" the Lich King's agent cried out and dropped to the ground. Jaina hesitated when she heard the pleading cry of the death knight.

"This small victory will avail you nothing!" the voice was dark and sinister again. "Come! Come to Northrend. My minions are waiting, and they are hungry..."

Daeldric brought down his falchion and cut off the undead's head. "Yes," he sighed. "I tend to do that a lot lately, old friend."

Jaina walked next to him and peered in the distance for the frost wyrm. She gulped. It was heading straight for Lady Captain Rogers' fleet.

* * *

"Frost Wyrm dead ahead!"

Catherine Rogers grinned. The foolish creature had evidently taken the bait. Now it was time to put one of her crazy ideas to the test.

She looked behind her. As she expected, the rest of the fleet had built some distance with her vessel and were waiting for further instructions. A flock of aerial dragoons—skilled griffonriders equipped with pistols—were flying around the flotilla, ready to engage the wyrm should her plan turn into an epic failure. "Starboard standard rudder."

"Starboard standard rudder. Aye aye ma'am," the helmsman responded and started turning the ship twenty degrees to the starboard side. "Steady on course ma 'am!"

"Very well," she responded.

When the ship's course was set directly for the orcish capital of Orgrimmar, she said: "Steady as you go." The course was not Orgrimmar but it was a landmark that was easy to follow even during a storm.

"Steady as you go. Aye aye."

"Very well," she replied back and walked down the aftercastle of the ship and towards the other side of the ship. Waves crushed at the side of the ships and splashed water on her and across the sanded deck. Catherine grabbed her bicorn hat and sauntered towards the precision cannon at the fore. The precision gun was a relatively recent invention that allowed precision shots at nearly any angle while not requiring a fuse.

The wyrm was only a minute away before she removed her spyglass from her pocked and peered through. "All non-essential personnel, clear the deck," she snapped.

That particular command generally did not include the sailor atop the crow's nest but the crew had been briefed correctly. Only Catherine, the helmsman, two riggers, and the three fellas at the precision gun remained on the deck.

The storm made her job extremely hard, so hard in fact that even Daelin Proudmoore would fail at the task at hand. But she was not him. Catherine took note of the current angle of the gun. She smiled at the gun officer, his calculations had been almost correct.

"Five degrees port and two degrees upward angle," she corrected. "Fire on my command."

Timing was everything, not only did she have to take into account the frost wyrm's position and relative speed but also the way the ship heaved and swayed by the crashing waves.

The wyrm opened its jaws and prepared one of its breaths of frost.

"Ma'am?" one of the enlisted sailors asked.

"Shut your mouth!" the gun officer snapped.

Catherine raised her hand and waited. The frost breath was almost on them when she gave the signal. "Fire!"

When she heard the deafening sound of cannon fire, she grabbed one of the sailors and jumped with him off the aftercastle.

The frost wyrm roared in pain as the exploding round shattered the bones that held its right wing to its body. It crashed at the top of the aftercastle and fell into the ocean.

Catherine jumped to her feet and looked for the other two members of the gun crew. The officer—whom had his wits about him and jumped off the aftercastle—shook his head at her. She nodded back at him and examined the damage on the ship. The castle had been extensively damage but it would not hinder their course towards Theramore.

The frost wyrm screeched in desperation as it struggled to fly away with only a single clipped wing left. It was both funny and depressing how the dragon, perhaps by mere instincts from when it was alive, tried to keep its head out of the water. The creature was silenced by the full brunt of the three-decker's broadside fire.

* * *

Daeldric whistled triumphantly.

"Am I supposed to take your whistling as admission of her superiority?"

"What? I admit to no such thing!" Daeldric replied in mock offense. "Merely amazed that our latest invention passed its field trial with flying colours."

Jaina chocked at that. "You are joking right?"

"And that is your answer to why I was the Lord Captain instead of Catherine. She might be a maritime prodigy but her crazy ideas need to be kept in check."

Growing in a military society—even though she did not personally abide to it—Jaina could not doubt the merits of the above logic. "What would you have done?"

"Honestly?" he asked. Jaina nodded in response. "Most likely would have let you get slaughtered by the wyrm."

Jaina was glad that her cowl completely shadowed her saddened face. She was not sure why but his answer had felt like a stab to the heart.

"I am who I am, my Lady. I would gladly lay my life for a tirassian civilian but… not for anyone on this island," he smiled, "not yet anyway."

Jaina bit her lips, trying to steer the conversation towards something else. "You were at Northrend with Arthas?"

Daeldric sighed. "His Grace thought that it was my best chance to regain my honour if I assisted the Prince."

Jaina had not cared about the story at the time but, according to Tandred, Arthas was in some way responsible for Daeldric's excommunication from the paladin order. Proving his worth to the future King of Lordaeron and Grandmaster of the Silver Hand would benefit him.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Shaking his head, Daeldric knelt in front of the death knight's corpse and pulled something from the body's neck. It was a woman's talisman, a memento from a lover or a wife.

"It belonged to his pregnant wife," he explained. "She died when the orcs escaped from their internment camps in Stromgarde."

Jaina placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "What are you going to do with it?"

"I'll bury it at the Hall of the Grand Champions in Kul Tiras."

 _No you won't_ , Jaina thought. With the accusations against him, Daeldric's presence would never be allowed to "taint" the resting place of the dead.

"We can bury him here if you want," she replied. "It's not as grand as the Hall but..."

Daeldric stood up and smiled. "Much appreciated."

Jaina saw Lorena approaching. "It would be best if you return to your quarters, my Lord."

The tall man turned around to leave.

"Daeldric…" she whispered. "Thank you."

Daeldric glanced towards her and nodded before walking away.

"He's just trying to save his own skin, Jaina," Lorena said.

 _I'm not so sure anymore,_ Jaina thought but she did not say that. "I know."

 


	4. New Year's Eve pt.1

_30 Haring 616_

Clad in full-plate armour, the footmen crossed their spear when Jaina approached ramp that led onto Victory, the pride of the tirassian fleet.

"State your business, Lady Proudmoore," one of them ordered in a hostile voice.

"I wish to speak to Catherine Rogers."

"Of course." They uncrossed their spears. "The Lady Captain is expecting you in her cabin."

Jaina rolled her eyes. The soldiers would not have dared to show such hostility unless they had been explicitly ordered to do so. At the top deck of the three-decker, a number of workers were busy repairing the forecastle and the rigging that had been damaged from the frost wyrm's attack. She had offered her own engineers to assist in the repairs but they were not there.

At the door that led to the captain's quarters, a pair of knights was standing guard. Unlike the footmen, these were members of the elite force that guarded the Lord Admiral, his immediate family, and the Lord Captain. Their armours were made out of mithral and gilded mithral and were highly ornamental without hindering the ability for sustained combat. As was traditional in Kul Tiras, the front of their plumed, winged helmets were beautiful full-face masks to give them a more elegant and mysterious visage.

The admiralsguard knights were equipped with a spear at hand, a longsword on their hip, two handguns on their shoulder belt and a shield strapped across their back. The librams dangling from their chain made it clear that they were not mere knights.

The paladins dipped their spears in respect and opened the door for her. "My Lady."

"Thank you, Ser," she replied gently.

Catherine Rogers motioned towards an empty chair at the front of her desk and continued scribing a letter. At the front of her desk, Jaina saw one of the most beautiful man she had ever seen in her life, easily rivalling both Kael'thas and Arthas. As a half-elf, the young man—barely past human adulthood—had somehow managed to perfectly combine the slender features of elves and the tall, muscular bodies of humans. His robed full plate armour made it clear that he was a member of the inquisitorial squad of the Knights of the Silver Hand.

The young half-elf stood up. "Arator the Redeemer," he said, "a pleasure."

"The pleasure is mine, Ser Arator," Jaina replied. She glanced at the chess board on the table. "I apologize for interrupting."

Arator chuckled. "Such a shame, truly," he quipped. "I am afraid we'll have to call this a tie, Captain."

Rogers placed the quill on the inkpot. "You noticed that you've already lost, right?"

Jaina glanced at the location of the chess pieces and came to the same conclusion. Although an average player would miss it, Arator would be losing within three moves. Arator had been doomed before the game even started; the mastery of chess was expected from the few that successfully graduated from the Naval Academy of War.

Arator sighed. "You see what I am dealing with, my Lady," he said. "I challenge Captain Rogers in a game of hearthstone and, somehow, end up playing chess."

Rogers rolled her eyes and grabbed her quill again. "If you are looking for someone to play silly games with, you know where to find Daeldric."

"You played Hearthstone with Lord Daeldric?"

"Kind of. We played it mostly to entertain Princess Emma and her playmate Vanessa," his expression turned sad at the mention of the dead children. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have certain preparations to make for the New Year's Eve."

When Arator closed the door, Jaina walked past the large table in the middle of the room, that served both as a war table and for dining, and sat down on one of the leather chairs in front of Rogers' desk.

"What did you want, Lady Proudmoore?" Rogers asked.

"Jaina is enough, there is no need for titles."

"With respect, I disagree."

Jaina frowned. "I apologise for not arriving earlier but I wanted to personally thank you for your assistance during the battle. Dealing with the frost wyrm and sending your dragoons to Northwatch Hold saved many lives."

Rogers chuckled. "It's completely understandable that it took you five days to come here. After all, you were busy visiting your friends in Orgrimmar."

 _How the hell did she know?_ Jaina had directly teleported inside Thrall's private chambers to avoid anyone from eavesdropping on them. With Kul Tiras in the Alliance, greater subtlety was necessary.

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't bother. Our ships have wards to detect teleportation in the vicinity." Rogers grabbed a cup from a nearby drawer and filled it with whisky. She pressed it on Jaina's hand. "Of course, we did not know if the two spells were to or from Orgrimmar but, as it happens, my bluff worked."

Jaina opened her mouth to speak but Rogers continued. "Now, you did not come here to thank me. Just state what you want."

As she was searching for the proper response, Jaina stood up and looked through the study. She smiled grimly when her eyes fell on the portrait of her family, drawn a few months before the start of the Second War. At the centre of the frame, Jaina and Tandred were sitting together on the great throne of Kul Tiras. Dressed in their naval uniforms, Daelin and her eldest brother, Derek, were standing at the sides of the throne. _We were so happy back then,_ she thought.

The only visible change since the days her father was in command of the ship was the set of full-plate armour on the armour stand and, if she recalled the word correctly, a dwarven urgrosh—a pollaxe with a large axe head on the primary end and a spear blade on the reverse end—on the weapon stand behind. The armour was almost identical to the ones worn by the admiralsguard but the dark green mane was longer and furrier. The top of the helmet's mask had the silvery hue of mithral while the bottom half was gilded along with the rest of the helmet. The mask had been split in half by a long sidelong cut. Jaina gulped. The armour belonged to Daeldric and although it had been repaired, he had chosen to keep the locations of the cuts on his mask and across his belly pronounced and with dried blood around them.

She sighed. _Why would someone cling to so much hatred?_

"Why did you keep the armour?" Jaina traced the coarse cut on the smooth, mithral mask. "Why are you even the Captain of this ship?"

"The Admiral wanted something bigger and better for himself." Rogers finished writing, rolled the parchment, placed wax on the letter and sealed it with her signet ring. Then, she started writing another letter. "Do you rehearse your speeches in from of a mirror?"

Jaina looked towards the Captain, confused. "What does that have—" Rogers gave her a sharp look. "Yes."

"That"—she pointed at the armour—"is where **_I_** rehearse my speeches."

"Where you and him—"

"Oh by the Light," Rogers sighed and pressed her palm on her face, the wedding band on her finger revealing itself. "Don't tell me that he has already seduced you."

Jaina visibly recoiled. "No, absolutely not! How dare you!"

Rogers chuckled and went back to her letter. A moment later, she jumped to her feet when the parchment was incinerated. She drew her pistol but Jaina flung it away by making a slapping motion with her hand. The gun discharged with a loud crack.

The admiralsguard charged into the room, the blade of their spear glowing with a faint light.

"Out, get out!" Rogers snapped to her guards. She took a deep breath and motioned for Jaina to take a seat. "Out of respect for your father, I will not throw you off my ship yet but—I warn you—choose your next words very carefully."

Jaina sat down and took a sip from her whisky. Her face twitched with displeasure by the strong, iodine taste of the drink. "I think Daeldric may be inno—"

"Tell Alverold that if he wants to question my loyalty, he should be man enough to do so himself," Rogers stood up and shut the door to the balcony. Then, she approached Jaina and whispered: "Go down that path and you might not like what you find."

Catherine Rogers was clearly afraid that Alverold was trying to set her up for treason but she had revealed everything Jaina needed to know without incriminating herself. The truth was much more sinister than just Daeldric and Edwin VanCleef murdering her brother.

Jaina stood up and started leaving.

"Your brother's murderer will be hanged, drawn, and quartered after Hordefall."

* * *

It was an extremely old and basic trick in getting prisoners to talk but, after all this time, Daeldric had come to appreciate the empty journal and the writing tools Jaina Proudmoore's people had given to him. Under a false sense of security, prisoners would often write their thoughts on the paper which would then be used against them or their country.

Daeldric obviously would not fall for that basic trick but the journal had helped him pass time in between his sleeping and exercising. The journal had nothing to do with his nearly non-existent plans to save himself and find Tandred's true murderer.

Instead, Daeldric had started recreating his favourite moments in the Naval Academy of War when the Admiral would take him and the other trainees to war rides. These were excursions—on horseback or on ship—at areas that, in the event of war, would be used (or had been used) for significant military engagements.

When it was possible, Daelin would split them into teams and deploy them in the field (without troops) as commanders of a regiment or army. Umpires would be used to handle reconnaissance and movement orders while an official panel of older officers, led by either Daelin or Captain-General Farnham, would critique their plays at the end. Mock combat were too impractical at sea and were instead emulated with tabletop games.

During the reconquest of Dalaran, Daeldric had adopted a strategy that was largely based on one of the pre-war staff rides. Grand Marshal Othmar Garithos, had taken all the credit for the assault but it hardly seemed important at the time. It had turned out to be a massive mistake; Garithos', supposed, military "ingenuity" had led to the Kirin Tor siding with the disgraceful general rather than Daeldric.

Daeldric had argued that the decision was, simply put, insane. "Ignoring the fact that the decision will cost us the Sin'dorei. The leaders of the Second War were unable to execute Aiden Perenolde," he had argued, "how can a mere baron execute the ruler of an entire Kingdom."

Only his former brothers and sisters in the Silver Hand had been sympathetic to his words but they had barely raised their voices. Saidan Dathrohan, fair Brigitte, and the rest simply did not have the protection of a War Hero.

Their decision had soon proven to be catastrophic. Kul Tiras withdrew immediately until Daelin Proudmoore could forcefully relieve Garithos of his command; the Sin'dorei had fled to Outland with the Demon Lord Illidan Stormrage; and the army of Lordaeron fell only a month later.

 _Daelin said I made the right decision,_ Daeldric reminded himself when he started doubting himself. It was one his political enemies would never forgive but it had been the right decision. Some even mocked him that only the future members of the Scarlet Crusade had, to an extent, supported him.

Daelin had tried to implement this system to the entirety of the Alliance but, other than Thoras Trollbane, the rulers found the concept of war rides rudimentary. The truth had to do with the fact that foreign nobles were too thin skinned to accept advice from military officers. Kul Tiras had many issues with the nobles but never in military matters; the tirassian military tradition was based on intelligence and proven merit instead of nobles playing war.

Daeldric stood up and opened the door when he heard a knock. He gasped at the beautiful sight.

A young maiden with a tallish, slender form stood in front of him. The golden threadwork of her violet and white robe-like ensemble glittered under the candlelight. She had her hood raised and wore an elegant mithral mask carved with the depiction of sea creatures and an eagle covered the upper part of her face. The visible skin of her abdomen, upper chest—a choice that, although extremely pleasing for any man's eye, was quite distasteful for a Lady of her station—and the visible part of face had a soft, pleasant glow to it.

Although Daeldric found the masks uncomfortable and annoying, he approved that Jaina Proudmoore had maintained the ancient tradition. It had started approximately five hundred years ago when the first Queen (or Lady) Admiral of Kul Tiras Josephine Proudmoore had enforced the usage of the masks that hid the upper face while promising two weeks of lawful adultery to her vassals. The "anonymity" offered by the masks was purely symbolic since they were hereditary in nature and made extensive use of heraldic symbols.

"Milady," he said as he gently kissed her knuckles. "You have an uncanny resemblance to an acquaintance of mine but I'm afraid she has always shunned me."

The Lady of Theramore smiled grimly. "Alverold is planning to execute you after Hordefall."

 _Way to ruin the mood._ Daeldric laughed but it was cut short when he noticed the sudden twitch on Jaina's lips. "Come now," he told her, "there is no need to sulk over my fate."

"You are innocent!"

It was touching that those words had come from her lips even if it was based on her naive but trusting intuition. _She murdered Daelin_ , he reminded himself and clenched the feelings that threatened to surface. "Why would you believe that?" his voice coming out rougher than he intended. "You have letters with treasonous content and members of the Defias Brotherhood murdering the ruling family. You also—"

"Am I wrong?"

Daeldric considered lying but he decided against it. "No."

"Then quit mansplaining and do your duty to your family and your country."

Part of him wanted to laugh at her. Another part of him wanted to slap the bitch senseless for daring—a kinslayer of all people—to lecture him about duty. Luckily for her, Daeldric was a man driver by law and reason.

He recalled Daelin's last words and nodded. Even if it brought him disgrace, how could he call himself a patriot if he did not whore himself out for the benefit of his country. "You should know that the letters are not fake but I swear that neither I nor VanCleef and his men had any part in the assassination."

Jaina raised her hand, politely interrupting him. "Say no more. We will be departing for Kul Tiras tomorrow." She flicked her wrist and a dark green uniform with a military mask placed atop it appeared on her hands. "I want you to celebrate with me."

Daeldic could think of at least a dozen reasons why that would be a terrible mistake. Instead, he grinned. "Are you asking me out on a date?"

Red flushed on her pretty face. She bit her lip. "You will be posing as a tirassian officer that has curried my favour."

"That's called a date."

She frowned. "A date with Jack Morrison not Daeldric von Selaniir."

He widened his crooked grin and took the clothes and the mask. "Give me a couple of minutes, my Lady."

When he was alone again, Daeldric sat at the desk and contemplated his options for a few moments. The girl might not have realised it but even if this disturbing, to say the least, alliance ended with his execution, it would at least allow him to fulfil Daelin's last order.

"Forgive her," Daelin had ordered with his last breath. "Forgive her."

Daeldric returned to his journal and wrote something before tearing off the page. _Your daughter might still be salvageable, my Lord._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "war rides" described were invented by the german/prussian General Helmuth von Moltke and are still used today. The tabletop game mentioned (although for land armies) is Kriegsspiel and was also invented by prussian officers.
> 
> The usage of their masks was inspired from Orlais in Dragon Age. Daeldric's armour and (when it appears) his sword are similar to the one shown in Marshall Proulx's concept art for Heroes of Dragon Age.


	5. New Year's Eve pt.2

_30 Haring 616 – 1 Wintermarch 617_

If there was one thing that Daeldric von Selaniir could appreciate from Jaina's speech, it would be the fact that she actually bothered to name every single one of the twenty four soldiers that died during the Scourge assault. It pleased him that she emphasised the name of the tirassian marine that apparently died during the battle; if that was a testament of her good character or her pragmatism, Daeldric could not tell.

"The Lich King will regret ever stepping foot on our home," she said. "That I swear!"

The crowd enthusiastically responded to her words as Jaina stepped off the elevated platform. Then, she started personally greeting all of the civilians that had gathered in the cluttered inn to spend the New Year's Eve with their mistress. The arrangements were certainly nothing specials but the atmosphere was warm and friendly.

The only actual shortcoming of the celebration was that the tirassian fleet was simply too large to celebrate along with the people of Theramore. Only the high ranking officers would be celebrating the coming of the New Year onshore.

This in turn meant that dear Catherine had instantly suspected him the moment Jaina was stupid enough to bring him to the inn.

It was amusing how his old friend stood out like a sore thumb while surrounded by masked figures. Although he personally disagreed with her choice of disrespecting the ancient tradition, the fact that she had not change her behaviour upon being promoted meant that she was not a sell-out.

_A Lady Captain now_ , Daeldric thought with pride. She may have been rewarded the rank under dubious circumstances but there was no man or woman that deserved the title more than her. Only her refusal to wear anything but the navy blue uniform of Lordaeron held her back.

When their eyes met, Daeldric brought his cup to his lips and downed the wine in a single swig. A gauche action that was certain to confirm to her his identity.

Catherine raised an eyebrow and considered him for a couple before shaking her head. She stood up and walked towards him, anger evident in her eyes.

Jaina was instantly alert the moment the first captain of Kul Tiras stood up, Daeldric gave her the tiniest nod. _I'll be fine,_ it said. The Lady of Theramore returned to her conversation but kept him within the edge of her vision.

Daeldric narrowed his eyes on Jaina and observed very carefully. He grinned when he noticed the tiniest motion on her closed lips. The sorceress had just cast some kind of eavesdropping spell to hear about the potential conversation between two old friends. Or perhaps he was just being paranoid.

The booth table was located in a small alcove with white drapes to provide a semblance of privacy. Catherine closed the curtain—obscuring Jaina and everyone else—and sat at the other side of the u-shaped sofa.

Catherine opened her mouth to speak.

Daeldric tapped his hand on the table once, paused, and tapped them twice more. _We are being watched,_ the signal said.

"What the fuck is this?" she said, instantly recognising his signal.

"Daeldric von Selaniir using a naive girl to bring law and justice to the corrupt institution that is Wrynn's Alliance," he said.

Catherine chuckled. "You could not have possibly picked a worse ally for that task."

Daeldric grinned. "It seems your promotion has made you stupid. Still a genius by Alliance standard but unworthy of your station."

She placed her pistol on the table. "Enlighten me."

"If a blackblood managed to seduce the Princess and turn her into a kinslayer, surely I can woo her to find her brother's murderer," he replied. "If she is a kinslayer by nature, I simply have to hand over the mantle of the Lord Admiral."

In a way, even if they were not far from the truth, it pained him to utter those words. But Jaina needed to hear them, the mere fact that she was treating him kindly did not atone for her sins… or so he tried to convince himself. _Good acts do not atone for evil acts._

"And what is stopping me from reporting you to Alverold?"

"Because Alverold is turning Kul Tiras into a vassal state! You know it, I know it, and he knows it." Daeldric paused. "You might be unwilling to get your hands dirty but if you stop me, you are complicit to this crime."

Catherine jumped to her feet. She grabbed him from the neck with one hand, and placed aimed her pistol at his crotch. "Never. Question. My. Loyalty."

"Captain Rogers," Jaina said with her calm voice. "Leave us."

_Shit,_ Daeldric thought. Placing the letter in Catherine's pocket would be infinitely harder now.

The Captain holstered her pistol and turned around. "Proud—"

"If you didn't realise, she told to get the fuck out."

Daeldric winced in pain when Catherine's right hook met his face. As his broken mask fell off his face, the illusion that changed the appearance of his face immediately disappearing, Daeldric placed the letter in her right pocket.

Catherine's eyes widened. She grabbed his linen napkin and cleaned her bloodied hand. "Be careful Lady Proudmoore," she warned, "or he will not be the only one swinging in the gallows."

When Catherine left, Jaina sat next to him, she looked to be close to the brink of crying. After she made sure nobody had seen the commotion, she poured water on the linen napkin and started gently cleaning his bleeding noise. "You silly, silly man," she whispered, "not everything is about having the last word."

"My apologies, I just—"

Jaina placed a finger on his scarred mouth, she traced the scar on his lips as she took her finger away. _She knows the art of seduction quite well,_ Daeldric noted.

"I know…" she cooed and held the napkin on his nose to stop the bleeding, "I know that you feel angry, alone, and abandoned but… let me help you in my own way, the tongue is mightier than the blade."

"I am afraid you are severely overestimating the power of diplomacy, fair Lady."

"It is as much of a mistake to underestimate yourself as to overestimate yourself. And please, just call me Jaina."

"Ah!" Daeldric laughed. "You learned quickly how to get me to shut up, my L—Jaina."

Jaina's blue eyes brightened when he pronounced her name, Daeldric could not help but smile back. It was unfair how easily his childhood crash could disarm any man with her smile.

She took the napkin off him to see if his nose had stopped bleeding. Satisfied, she took his broken mask, cast some kind of mending incantation, and placed it on his face once again. "You know, if what you say is true," she said, "I have an entire book of Daelin quotes in my memory."

Daeldric sighed. "What's the point of knowing them if you don't believe them?"

"I love my father and I do believe in his teachings," she smiled a sad little smile. "Most of them anyway. My entire life I've been groomed by my father to be a diplomat and a sorceress not a military expert like Tandred and you; we have the same goals but our professions make us see things from a different angle…"

As they were talking, a plump but pretty serving girl walked in on them. Daeldric scurried to hide the bloodied napkin behind him. The wench blushed, perhaps thinking that she had interrupted a rather intimate moment.

Daeldric grinned at her, further increasing her embarrassment.

"Thank you, Janene," Jaina said and went to assist the woman with the plates. After three months in near seclusion, Daeldric could not help but growl at the prospect of eating one of the most famous dishes in Kul Tiras; lobster along with garlic butter.

* * *

It was a crisp night with the Great Dark Beyond bright from luminescent stars and a pale, crescent moon. Jaina was lying on a violet blanket at the top of her tower, the entire universe was within her grasp.

"Daeldric," she said, "watch the star with me."

"I am."

It was a lie. He was looking over the battlements towards Orgrimmar to the north rather than the beautiful sky. She could not see his face but it was easy to conclude that Daeldric was struggling to control his anger.

She truly felt for him. Growing up, Jaina despised the orcs too for depriving her of her brother and the general misery they had spread everywhere. But this had old changed by Medivh's words, the Battle for Mount Hyjal, and Thrall's good character had truly changed her perspective.

It was no longer about protecting Kul Tiras or the Alliance but about saving the civilisations of the entire universe. The leading class of humanity had a duty to set aside their hatred and unite all the races of Azeroth in preparation for the inevitable battle with the Burning Legion. "Then come sit with me."

Without turning towards her, he shook his head. "It would not be appropriate."

"It's only inappropriate if you let it be."

"Do you bring all your male friend or less-than-friends to stargaze?"

_No,_ she thought, _only Arthas._ "Just sit down you fool."

"An order?" he laughed and sat on the floor to her left. Captain Rogers had delivered him with a mere stubble, Jaina could not deny that his growing beard looked very fitting on his face. He uncorked another bottle of wine.

Jaina extended her wine cup towards him. Daeldric shook his head. "Whyyy," she whined.

"You've drunk enough," he explained and started drinking directly from the bottle.

"I'm not—Fine!" she crossed her hands and pouted her lips. "Time for some astronomy lessons then, Lord Daeldric. Point towards Outland for me?"

Daeldric raised an eyebrow at her challenge. "A trick question? Surely you can do better than that?" He sighed. "The location of Draenor, if it is even from our universe, was not mapped by the astronomers of Dalaran before Ner'zhul blew up the planet. The portion of the world that became Outland is in the Twisting Nether and not the Great Dark Beyond."

Jaina clapped her hands. Daeldric seemed to have taken offense but her gesture was sincere. It was extremely rare to find a non-wizard knowledgeable about these things. "Have you ever visited Outland?"

"I visited Honour Hold seven months ago," he explained. "Why?"

"According to stories, Azeroth is visible from there."

"A fool's tale," he replied.

Jaina leaned on her elbows. "What do you mean?"

"Ser Arator, one of my paladins, informed me that it is plainly visible from the top of the Black Temple. I saw nothing from Honour Hold. That means Ser Arator saw an illusion or some kind of divination magic."

She pointed towards a formation of seven stars in the darkness. "Outland should be somewhere there."

Daeldric lied next to her and followed her hand. "That makes no sense to me. Then Azeroth would be observable from the entirety of Outland."

Jaina shook her head. "It's theorised that the sky right above the Betrayer's seat at the Black Temple is, essentially, acting as a second portal to our star system."

"According to my calculations," she continued, "Outland should be somewhere there but much, much closer."

"But the wormhole is too small to be observable with a naked eye…" Daeldric added and took another long gulp from the bottle, understanding that what soldiers saw as a fool's tale can sometimes be explained by magic. "Or a telescopic sorcery."

"You are well versed with astronomy," she said, surprised.

"I am a naval officer of Kul Tiras, not an idiot without interests."

Jaina was about to reply to him when she noticed trails of fireworks flying up the sky. "It's starting!" she exclaimed.

Moments later, the firework exploded into a thousand bright fragments. Some of the fireworks were more sophisticated and turned into creatures soaring up the sky. The most sophisticated of all the fireworks was one that animated into a red dragon engaged in combat with riderless griffons, it was truly a sight to behold. When the dragon was finally defeated, the heraldic symbols of all the nations of the Alliance appeared high in the sky.

"For the Alliance!" her people cried out when the sigil of the Alliance appeared.

As if competing, the tirassian marines replied with a war cry of their own. "Glory for Kul Tiras," they shouted back, louder, when a golden anchor on a field of green appeared.

Daeldric chuckled. "It's just a game soldiers play, Jaina," he whispered to her ear.

Jaina's face brightened, embarrassed with herself. She pulled him in a tight embrace, resting her head on his shoulder. "Happy new year!"

For a moment, she considered breaking the intimate embrace but she pushed the thought aside. She had never intended for this but, after spending an entire night with him, she could not deny that she felt _something_ for this man.

Daeldric shifted uncomfortably but eventually relented. He brushed the golden strands that hid her eyes and cheek gently, the tender motion sending a shiver of delight through her spine. "I hope all your wishes become reality."

Something in his grim tone did not sit right with her. She opened her eyes and looked at his face, it was barely visible but there seemed to be a single drip of water under his right eye. With a beard on his face and most of his sidelong scar hidden, Jaina could not deny that he was unfairly attractive; in a rugged way like Varian rather than the handsomeness her previous lovers or Ser Arator held. "Daeldric...what's wrong?"

"I thought I had prepared myself for this but... I don't want to die in disgrace."

She kissed him on the wet spot and closed her eyes. "Don't give up on me Daeldric, I will find a way to save you."

"You can prove my innocence but the letters aren't fake... he can execute me for treason whenever he wants."

"I will find a way."

Daeldric sighed, unconvinced.

"And if I fail," she continued and placed a blanket over both of them to keep them warm after her warming wards run out, "you will die knowing that your Princess is watching you and that your _family_ could not have wished for a more loyal servant."

He grunted and wrapped his arm around the back of her neck. Daeldric placed his other hand on her belly but flinched away instantly when he touched the naked skin.

Jaina chuckled and brought his hand back to that spot. "It's only inappropriate if you let it be," she reminded him.

"I was under the impression that Prince Arthas had taught you how male anatomy works."

"Oh!" she blushed, she tried to raise the blanket to confirm her suspicion when Daeldric slapped her hand away.

"Don't look!" he snapped. "This is already embarrassing enough."

"Aw… you poor baby," she cooed then burst into laughter while he blushed and shifted his body. When she calmed down, she closed her eyes one final time and fell into deep slumber.

* * *

It was two hours after midnight when Catherine Rogers found herself sneaking through the lush forest of Dustwallow Marsh. Even though it had snowed in the previous days, the warmth of the swamp had prevented any traces of snow or ice from appearing. She bit back a snarl towards the Lord Captain for making her do this when she stepped in the still warm, muddy waters of the swamp.

A heartbeat later, her prey looked backwards but Catherine dropped lower in the disgusting water. When the danger had cleared, she stood up and stalked after the SI:7 agent.

Catherine had instantly suspected Calia Hastings for being more than just a simple lieutenant the moment she had approached her with vein compliments. Initially, she had assumed that Jaina Proudmoore had ordered the woman that was unworthy of her noble name to keep an eye on her but that was obviously not the case.

As the Lady Captain assumed, the woman had approached her in an attempt to spy on the activities of Kul Tiras but when Catherine "accidentally" let on that there was no Jack Morrison in the tirassian fleet, Hastings had made the mistake and fled from her bed after Catherine pretended to be asleep.

Something twisted in her as she remembered her dead husband—a victim of the Forsaken betrayal after Garithos captured Lordaeron. _I had to do it,_ she told herself, _there was no other way_.

Catherine dropped low and crawled to the edge of the hill. In complete contrast to the swamps of Dustwallow Marsh, the sandy beach was quite beautiful in comparison. Still, it did not compare to any beach in Kul Tiras or Southshore, nor did it compare to the waters of the lake the Proudmoore Mansion overlooked. Then again, nothing compared to that.

She peered through her spyglass. Hastings was digging in the soft sand for something. Roger's checked her firearms. The rifle and one of her pistols were mostly intact while the other two pistols had been drenched in water and mud. When she finished briefly cleaning her working firearms, she pulled Daeldric's letter from her pocket.

_Catherine,_

_Our letters to the Theramore dissenters were altered by SI:7 Calia Hastings to command them to aggressively fight Lady Proudmoore. I implore you to investigate._

_Glory for Daelin_

Although they had parted on hostile terms, Daeldric spoke the truth in his letter. She truly wanted to help her but Catherine was quite worried of what was to follow. On the one hand, nothing would please her more than to see one of her few, true friend being proclaimed innocent, overthrowing Alverold, and proclaiming himself Lord Admiral; after all, she refused to believe that he had any intention of giving the position to a kinslayer. On the other hand, knowing her friend, it disturbed her that Daeldric would not be afraid to declare war to Stormwind.

Hastings pulled a mechanical ravel from the footlocker she unearthed, scribed a letter, and strapped it across the raven's leg.

Catherine took aim, waited for the raven to be over of the tiny islet, and fired. The mechanical raven fell on the ground. This was necessary to ensure that Hastings would commit to a fight in order to protect and recover the letter.

The SI:7 agent turned towards her in surprise and jumped behind a rock. Not having any ranged weapons of her own, the woman was stuck deciding between making a run for it and rushing for the letter to destroy. Stuck in inaction, she picked the worst option—doing nothing.

Casually, Catherine reloaded her gun and walked down the hill.

"Parley," Hastings called out.

Catherine chuckled. "Very well."

When the agent stood up and drew her cutlass. Catherine dropped her rifle and drew her rapier but did not draw her main gauche with her left hand. Rapier versus cutlass, this was going to be too easy. "State your terms, whitewasher."

"I hate the orcs!" Hastings snarled. "I win, you die. You win, I will tell you everything."

Catherine nodded and hooked her off-hand around her belt, right next to her flintlock pistol. Duellists normally held their unarmed off-hand behind their back or firmly to their chest, hooking around the belt was not ideal but neither was it suspicious.

She brought her rapier to her chest and held it upright. "Death before dishonour."

Hastings started circling her, assessing her prey like a lion. "Excellent footwork," Catherine admitted, "and duelling stance."

The Captain maintained a much more relaxed stance that pointed to a far too confident duellist. In her defence, a rapier-cutlass duel without armour was simply not fair.

The cutlass fighter would offer a horizontal profile against a sword that was mostly used against targets with a near-sideways hitbox. At the same time, the near-sideways hitbox of the rapier wielder would be a very small target for cutting wounds. All the rapier master needed to do is to use the significant reach and speed offered by the rapier to dart in and out with quick lunges to butcher the wielder of a sword that was optimised for the close-quarters of a ship.

Catherine had no time for that bullshit. Without looking behind her, she walked towards a rocky bump that would certainly trip an unsuspecting person. When she intentionally bumped on the rock, the younger woman mistook her faint for an actual error and charged.

Catherine drew her pistol and shot at the kneecap. As Hastings fell down to her knees, the Captain followed with a punch straight to the face. Then, she punched three more times until the prisoner stopped struggling.

"Bitch!" Hastings shouted. "We were duelling."

The woman certainly had a point but she was technically incorrect, by the tirassian standards anyway. In Kul Tiras, duels were a sacred affair that were meticulously planned from top to bottom. The battlefield, the weapons used (usually identical and mundane for both combatants), the time of the dual, and—at times—even the duelling stance were decided by the second of each duellist with the challenged party having an advantage (within reason).

The procedure was by design so exhaustive that the rivalling nobles had long resolved their differences before their seconds decided on agreeable terms of combat. In fact, a duel without seconds present was considered null and void, and punishable by death since the seconds were honour bound to ensure that the outcome is respected by both parties and reported to the Lord Admiral.

Catherine laughed as she started tying up the woman with the rope she had brought. "You didn't state that pistols were disallowed."

Hastings spat at her face. "I will tell you nothing whore!"

The Captain laughed some more and knelt before the prisoner. "This whore was fucking you an hour ago."

"Is that really the best response you could muster?"

Catherine tore the woman's sleeve and tied it as a gag around the agent's mouth. She placed her main gauche on the woman's weathered face and run it across a healed scar. "A naked woman has few secrets, a flayed woman, none."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "A naked man has few secrets, a flayed man, none." —Roose Bolton


	6. Blockade on Bolarus

_7 Wintermarch 617_

Jaina Proudmoore closed the tome Halford Wyrmbane had provided her with and walked onto the main deck of her ship, the Seabolt. The two-deck frigate was nothing special but it was the only that was repaired since the Frost Wyrm's attack.

One of the officers offered her his spyglass but Jaina dismissed him with a shake of her head. There was little point in confirming what she already knew. The defences of Kul Tiras were impregnable with conventional methods.

Baradin Bay was an enclosed sea that was stretched between Gilneas, Southshore, the Wetlands, and Dun Morogh. Kul Tiras was situated at the entrance to the bay, forming two straits; one with the Gilnean city of Stormglen to the north and another with unapproachable mountains of Dun Morogh.

Each of the straits was protected by a coastal fortress that overlooked the surrounding area. Fort Kul was located to the north and—back in the good old days—served as a trade hub with Gilneas while Fort Tiras was located at the other side of the island to the south. A large wall stretched from Kul to Tiras and guarded the entirety of Kul Tiras and Baradin Bay from any naval invasion from the west. Nothing sailed in the bay without the sanction of Kul Tiras. Menethil Harbour, the only Alliance base in the reason, had been completely demilitarised.

"Ships!" the lookout at the top of the crow's nest shouted.

Jaina looked behind her and winced when she saw the approaching fleet. Jaina may have asked for Varian's assistance but she had never expected that the man would bring his entire fleet.

Other than the fact that Lorena did not salute, the Colonel's expression betrayed nothing when she lowered her spyglass. Lorena always saluted. Jaina did not blame her. She had found curled up with Daeldric at the top of her tower after Catherine had abducted Calia Hastings and rescued Gavis Greyshield from the dungeon. Jaina's embarrassment had turned into pure humiliation when a single look on Daeldric's face told her that he had orchestrated the entire event. For what purpose, he did not say even after being threatened with torture.

"Something is wrong," Colonel Lorena said as she lowered her spyglass.

"What do you mean?"

"A bit premature to mobilise his entire fleet don't you think?"

Jaina chuckled. "Varian has always been a bit hot-headed," she explained, "I'm sure he means well."

It was a lie. Jaina knew exactly what Lorena meant and, to an extent, agreed with her line of thought but this kind of thinking was treasonous at best. Varian would not have compromised the entire Alliance for a simple servant of Theramore unless something else was going on. Still, she decided, her beloved King deserved the benefit of doubt.

* * *

Lord Admiral Alverold Proudmoore felt his hand trembled as he touched the grip of the ancestral blade. The sweepings and the crossguard of the blade's guard represented the tentacles of the mythical kraken. While the rest of the blade had a watery theme, the gilded pommel depicted the eagle of the Arathi Empire. Alverold placed his other hand on the scabbard of the longsword, steadied his grip on the hilt and drew.

_Tidehunter!_

The faint sound of a tidal wave could be heard as the blade cut the air. The elementium of the sword gave the blade a silvery hew which glowed as water flowed throughout the blade. Supposedly, the spirit of a mermaid was trapped on the blade and, according to the story, only the truest servant of Kul Tiras could hear her singing if he placed his ear on the blade.

Alverold could not hear it and that angered him greatly for some reason. He cut the air once more to hear the serene sound of the tide but that further annoyed him. The elementium made the blade far too heavy to move with ease. Annoyed, he attached the scabbard on his hip, sheathed the blade, and walked towards the balcony of his quarters in Pride's Citadel.

He looked triumphantly towards his brother's statue at the centre of Bolarus. Alverold could not wait to tear that gigantic filth down. Then, he looked towards the west and took a deep breath when he saw a large fleet with blue sails with a golden lion. "Idiot," he muttered.

He pivoted and rushed out of his quarters.

No seats were empty when he entered the chamber of the Admiralty. The lady captain, the five high captains, the captain-general of Bolarus, the commandant of Crestfall, and the two marcher lords of Kul and Tiras were already at their place on the round table.

The rest of the nobles were sitting further away from the table with limited right to speak. As the tirassian military tradition demanded, once the senate voted—unanimously in this case—to declare war, only those with a place on the war table had a right to make military decisions. Only the marcher lords and, in practice, the lord admiral had a hereditary title.

Clad in the scales of a red dragon, the commander of the aerial dragoons saluted. "Your Grace," Alexandros Wyrmbane stated. "Thirty-two ships of the line, one griffon carrier, and ten frigates."

Alverold was impressed. It was incredible even by tirassian standard how Varian had managed to summon his entire fleet and sail it to Kul Tiras within seven days. Still, that fleet would not only have to deal with a bigger fleet that had bigger ships with greater speed, firepower, and experienced sailors, Stormwind would also have to deal with perhaps the most advanced fortifications against a naval assault.

Part of him wanted to send a missive to Varian promising to give him Catherine Rogers' head but he had been completely blindsided by his reckless decision to bring his entire fleet. His people would not sit on the negation table unless the fleet of Stormwind withdrew.

_And if hostilities happen…_

Alverold pushed the useless thoughts aside. He narrowed his eyes on Catherine but there was nothing he could say. She had won. So much in fact that he had been given no option than to condone her prisoner's interrogation.

"Are the fleets deployed?"

"Aye, my Lord," Catherine said. "First, seventh, and third fleet are stationed at Bolarus; second and sixth at fort Kul; and fourth and fifth at fort Tiras."

Commandant Devon Ainsworth cleared his hoarse throat. "I need ten days for the reserve fleet to be combat ready."

Someone chuckled at the man that had been handpicked by Daeldric von Selaniir to run the Naval Academy of War and the headquarters of the Admiralty in Crestfall.

The chuckle had come from the former pirate lord, Duke Falrevere. Upon becoming Lord Admiral, Alverold had pardoned the former traitor in an attempt to reclaim part of their colonies in the southern seas without further bloodshed. It was, to an extent, considered an unpopular decision but Alverold saw no reason to kill the losing Bloodsail Buccaneers when they could rejoin Kul Tiras. _Jaina committed a greater crime yet nobody cared,_ he had argued to himself.

And why would they? Daelin Proudmoore had led them to ruin after all.

Some of the nobles shifted uncomfortably on their chairs. Duke Falrevere might be the a skilled captain but he was not popular in this room. Other than Reginald Goodwin, there was no man in this room that would not gut Falrevere himself—if they could that was.

"If you find something amusing, pirate," Ainsworth continued, smoothly, "bring us in on the joke."

Falrevere jumped to his feet and reached for his rapier. "Duel," he snapped.

Ainsworth hesitated but he stood up. "Lord Tiras, will you do me the honour and act as my second."

"With pleasure, good sir," Marquess Tiras replied. The marquess was a tall, stout man that had seen better days before the newly ordained Daeldric had permanently crippled the man during the melee in the Grand Tournament of the Silver Hand. Such an act would have created constant rivalry between the men but—such was their paladin honour—that the men simply shook hands and congratulated each for their duel.

Marchioness Eloise d'Artese of fort Kul waved her hand dismissively. "We may have accepted the Admiral's… ahem… initiative but that gives you no right to threaten us _Duke,_ " the ivory beauty toned the last word, mocking Falrevere for his self-proclaimed title.

Alverold nodded his agreement. "After all," he said, "duels are forbidden during war."

"Not unless the Lord Admiral approves," Falrevere corrected.

"Regulation 612/r.74, one of the first regulations his Grace—Tandred Proudmoore—passed after being elected," Captain Mishan Waycrest corrected.

"No wonder he died," Falrevere cackled.

Nobody laughed. Only Captain-General Reginald Goodwin's lips twitched into a smile. Something twisted in Alverold when he saw his two most trusted allies mocking his nephew. Tandred may have been a fool and his death may have worked for the benefit of Kul Tiras but… he was family.

"Very well. To your duties," Alverold stood up and reached for his blade. The rest of the war council did the same with the exception of the swordless marchioness who simply stood up and placed a clenched fist on her heart. The nobles not on the war table followed the Marchioness' example.

"My Lord," Catherine interrupted, still sitting on the opposite side of the table. "May I suggest that we proceed with Calia Hastings' trial and invite Lady Jaina Proudmoore to act as a judge?"

"Why?"

"I have reason to believe that Lady Proudmoore might be the first one to vote for the woman's execution."

Alverold tightened his jaw and motioned for everyone to take a seat. The Lady Captain more or less had stated that Varian had sent Hastings to spy on Jaina. That was something he could not allow. "No," when he saw that his words fell on deaf ears, he continued, "she murdered Daelin."

"A bit too late for you to adopt that stance, Alverold," d'Artese said.

"Seconded," Tiras huffed, refusing to believe that he had agreed with her of all people. Whenever the two rival families agreed, there was no option but to concede to their demands.

Alverold nodded. "Very well," he turned towards the dragoon commander, "send for Jaina Proudmoore."

Catherine also looked towards Wyrmbane and nodded to him. Since he was the superior officer, Alverold was certain that there was a hidden message in the nod but he could neither decrypt or call it out.

He rued the day that he had elected her lady captain for her silence during Daeldric's trial.

Alverold stood up and drew his longsword. This time the sacred ritual was complete. The war council members thrust their blades towards the centre of the table—rapiers, scimitars, a holy longsword, and the legendary Tidehunter—connecting their tips. The marchioness, Wyrmbane, and the other nobles placed their right hand on their heart.

"Glory for Kul Tiras!" they all shouted.

The council members slammed their off-hand on the table and headed to their duties.

* * *

The first griffon was mounted by two people. The lanky man in leather gear and the cowled face was the aging Mathias Shaw. Shaw was the leader of Stormwind's intelligence agency.

The brunette woman with the uncharacteristically short hair, the weathered face, and the naval uniform was Jes-Tereth, Daelin's replacement as the Grand Admiral of the Alliance. She placed her tricorn hat on her head, unbuckled the straps that held her on the griffon saddle, and peered through her spyglass.

Halford Wyrmbane was not present, Jaina noted. It did not surprise her. The former lord captain of Kul Tiras had been disgraced during the Siege of Theramore. At her command, the Lord Captain had implored—but not ordered—his men to stand down and not participate in the battle. Wyrmbane himself was too honourable and proud to do that, he had drawn his blade and joined Daelin Proudmoore during his final stand.

Although Tandred never exiled him, Wyrmbane had never returned to his family in Kul Tiras. Instead, he had found the greatest killers throughout the Alliance and formed the 7th Legion. The banners of the 7th Legion were visible in the distance but there was little doubt in Jaina's mind that he was not aboard those ships.

Clad in his blue full-plate armour, Varian jumped off his white-gold griffon and marched towards her. "Get Daeldric," he ordered Shaw. Once the spymaster disappeared in the lower deck, he turned towards her and placed two hands on her shoulders. "What did you do?!"

Jaina flinched at his violent outburst. "I don't follow?"

Lorena clenched her jaw.

"You think it is a mere coincidence that the moment Daeldric stepped on your island, my alliance with Kul Tiras is compromised?"

Jaina took a deep breath to calm her anger and forced smiled. "I worked very hard for the Alliance," she begun, "don't you dare accuse me of treason."

Varian sighed and lowered his hands. "I'm not questioning your loyalty—"

"Merely your competence," a sulking voice added. Mathias Shaw had twisted Daeldric's hand behind his back and forced him up the forecastle. Then, he pushed Daeldric to the ground and placed a knife on his throat.

Daeldric's appearance was quite dishevelled and his left eye bleeding from a rough hit from the spymaster. Jaina truly couldn't care less. The man had taken advantage of her in the worst way possible and spat on mercy with his deeds.

What did concern her, however, was that Varian's thug was under the impression that his words or actions would go unnoticed. "Funny," she said, "perhaps next time no prisoner will arrive on my island because _someone_ decided to have some fun in the dungeons."

Mathias chuckled. "Had the King allowed me to do that, Daeldric would arrive to Theramore… in pieces."

Jaina gulped. "VanCleef tortured him…"

"Aye," Varian explained. "Then he went to Kul Tiras and reported that we were torturing their noble traitor."

It was an ingenious plan, Jaina could not deny that. Now she felt like an even greater fool. Daeldric had not only exploited her kind heart but had turned her into VanCleef's pawn. But she was not the only pawn, it was only for a second but Daeldric's green eyes had widened at the revelation.

She narrowed her eyes on Daeldric. "What are you smiling at?"

"N-nothing," he replied instantly. Such a swift, stuttering speech was uncharacteristic of him. _He is scared_ , Jaina thought, _or acting scared_.

When he did not respond, Varian grabbed the prisoner from the throat, pushed him towards the bulwark and practically held him over the sea. Although he was a strong man, Daeldric was smart enough not to fight back. "Jaina asked you a question."

"Death before dishonour," Daeldric said.

Varian tossed him back on the deck and reached for Shalamayne.

"Wait!" Jaina cried out. "If you kill him, you will most certainly start a war with Kul Tiras."

Varian withdrew his hand and approached her. "I am not afraid of war."

"Perhaps you should be," she turned towards Admiral Jes-Tereth. "Care to explain to his Majesty the futility of a naval invasion."

Jes-Tereth lowered her spyglass and sighed. "The only way to prevail against Kul Tiras is to set up a naval blockade at our current position and dispatch Shandris Feathermoon's fleets to invade all their colonies in the Southern Seas."

Knowing that the kaldorei fleet would never sanction such an operation, Varian pointed towards a crack on the wall towards the south of Kul Tiras. "What about that?"

"That would not work," Jes-Tereth explained. "The waters are extremely shallow and filled with reef. Even if somehow we could get within firing range and breach the wall, our marines would get butchered before they could row to the coast."

"We are _not_ going to invade Kul Tiras," Jaina added. "We will take your griffons, we will fly to Bolarus, and talk to my uncle."

"We will do what we must to rescue Calia Hastings." Varian turned towards the prisoner, ready to continue the interrogation.

"Dragoon!" the lookout cried out.

* * *

Daeldric snapped his head towards the location of Bolarus. It was an aerial dragoon to be precise. The ebon griffon had an impressive eight feet length and a wingspan of twenty-eight feet; only Sky'ree, the legendary griffon of the equally legendary Kurdran Wildhammer, was bigger that this incredible creature. The griffon's armour was made out of the scales of the red dragonflight, a memento of the dark time when the red dragonflight had butchered Derek Proudmoore and his Third Fleet.

Now that it was widely known that the red dragonflight had not been responsible for their actions during the Second War, the dragonscale armours had been replaced with conventional armour with only the seven most skilled griffon riders maintaining their awe-inspiring armour.

The griffon landed with a loud swoop, breaking part of the rails of the ship. The two smaller griffons backed away but let out a threatening screech. Even in chains, Daeldric saluted the most skilled human griffonrider in the entire world. Alexandros Wyrmbane.

Like his familiar, the rider was clad from top to bottom with dragonscale and his helm was the actual head of a drake. A number of straps on his uniform held a number of long, slender pistols while a long pistol sword was dangling from his hip. The griffon held additional firearms and weapons capable of cutting through flesh or breaking bones.

"I will speak to your leader," Alexandros commanded and removed the drakehead.

Varian towered over the tall dragoon. "And who would you be?"

The leader of the aerial dragoons did not even flinch and met the king's angry gaze.

"This is Alexandros Wyrmbane," Jaina explained, "son of Halford Wyrmbane," she added a moment later, most likely to ensure that Varian would not do anything stupid.

Alexandros scoffed at the mention of his dishonoured father. "These boats," he pointed towards Stormwind's fleet, "do they belong to you?"

"What do you think?" Varian growled.

Daeldric grinned, getting braver now that his death could not be covered as a mere "accident". "Just a military exercise, Ser Alexandros, nothing to worry about."

"A bloody expensive one."

"Well, it's not like people are starving in Westfall."

Daeldric gasped, his ears ringing from the powerful blow to the head. By the light did the man have a powerful hand, twice as strong as his meaty hands looked. When he recovered, he noticed that every man had pointed his blade towards the dragoon. The only exception was Mathias Shaw that had pressed a dagger on Daeldric's throat.

Alexandros himself had one pistol pointed to Varian and another to the filth with the dagger. His griffon, Phaenon, had not moved from his spot, waiting for a single command from its rider.

"Von Selaniir will not be assault in my presence!" Alexandros snapped.

"Sheath your weapons," Jaina ordered.

Like a death knight, Jaina's eyes were glowing an extremely unnatural light blue colour. Daeldric assumed that this was a precursor to an extremely powerful frost spell that was ready to be cast with a flick of her wrist. The disturbing sight was made even worse by the fact that, other than her eyes, her face was completely darkened by shadow cast from her cowl. A layer of ice covered both of her hands and staff. The lady of Theramore was devoid of any beauty.

Immediately, Phaenon extended his left wing and covered its rider from the sorceress' line of sight. Some of the inexperienced sailors took an instinctive step away from both the griffon and their mistress.

"Sheath your weapons," Lorena said, repeating the command.

Varian looked towards Jaina in disgust, he pointed his weapon towards Daeldric. "If he speaks again, I will gut him!" Then, he sheathed his weapon, so did Shaw.

"Lord Daeldric, be silent." Alexandros holstered his pistols. "I assume you are here to recover Gavis Greyshield and Calia Hastings."

"We couldn't care less about Greyshield."

"Well, I do," Jaina interrupted. "Greyshield has committed crimes against Theramore, he will be returned to me."

Alexandros chuckled. "Calia Hastings might be returned to you when we are done with her. Greyshield will be returned on your command after the trial."

"You have no right to—"

"What are the charges, Ser?" Jaina asked.

Alexandros walked towards the sorceress. "Is Calia Hastings a subject of Stormwind or Theramore?"

"Theramore."

"Then the charges are treason against Kul Tiras and Theramore."

Jaina cocked her eyebrow. "And Theramore?"

The dragoon nodded. "As a slighted party, you are cordially invited to act as a juror during the trial." He looked towards Daeldric. "Von Selaniir will also be transferred to my custody."

"No," Varian snapped, trying to establish a semblance of dominance. "You will do as I say or there will be consequences."

"Varian… let me handle this," Jaina whispered.

Daeldric grinned. It seemed he and Catherine had been completely wrong about Proudmoore. Unlike popular belief, even though her gentle tone pointed towards a very submissive and tender woman, Jaina Proudmoore was not Varian's little pet.

Jaina brushed past Varian and hoisted herself on one of the griffons. She looked towards Daeldric, her face devoid of any emotion this time. "Shall we, my Lord?"


End file.
